


Just A Little Of That Human Touch

by heavvymetalqueen



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Five Guys, M/M, the burger joint not five extra guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 15:26:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8806153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavvymetalqueen/pseuds/heavvymetalqueen
Summary: The last thing he expected to hear today when he got to the grounds was the sound of fucking spurs.
Ocelot and Kaz get burgers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 6 of Ocelhira week, prompt "date"
> 
> This fic has [its own playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLNi7BZ2alJhGlMKoreSjT92vnnF-vTdoq)

The last thing he expected to hear today when he got to the grounds was the sound of fucking _spurs_. It triggers in him that kind of sickening, bitter nostalgia that makes his phantom limbs ache like an abscess under his prostheses.

“Well, good morning, Master Miller,” says Ocelot, stepping at his side.

“Ocelot,” he grunts, glancing up over his aviators. “Fuck, that mustache is an abomination.”

Ocelot chuckles, and it’s a much more gravelly sound than the last time he heard it. “John likes it.”

Kaz snorts. “Well your _John_ isn’t on base. Guess you’re not getting laid today.”

“Hmm.” A twitch of mustache. God, he looks like a child molester. “I know. Just checking things out.”

“Whatever. David!” he barks, and David straightens immediately, fumbling with the cigarette he’s holding. “What did I tell you about smoking?”

“Master, with due respect, I -”

“Don’t talk back!”

David blushes, and drops the cigarette, crushing it with his boot.

Kaz crosses his arms. “And what did I tell you about leaving traces of your presence?”

“Yes Master,” he mutters, crouching down and picking up the cigarette butt, walking towards the other end of the field to dispose of it.

“Shit,” hisses Ocelot. “He sure looks like him, huh.”

“He’s nothing like _him_. I’m making sure of that.”

Ocelot hums in that smug way that has been driving him up the wall since the seventies. “He’s cute as hell though.”

“He’s _twenty_ , you degenerate.”

“Oh, not for me. From the way he looks at you, I’m pretty sure he’s gagging for a taste of Japanese cock.”

Kaz chokes on his own spit.

Ocelot laughs, and now the recruits are starting to look over.

“Don’t you have somebody to betray or something? I’m _working_ here,” he coughs.

“Just wanted to say hello to an old friend, Miller,” he says smarmily, doing that stupid hand thing that looks even stupider now that he’s an old man.

“Fuck off, Ocelot.”

He rolls his eyes and struts away, at last, leaving him to do his fucking job.

***

He’s still around when Kaz sends the kids off to the mess hall. Sitting with his foot propped up on the hood of the flashiest, dumbest car he’s ever seen, some sort of coupé candy red Maserati that keeps getting envious looks from every recruit in the parking lot.

“You never understood the concept of subtlety, did you,” he says.

Ocelot smiles. “What’s the point of being filthy rich if you don’t do it in style.”

Kaz rolls his eyes.

“Speaking of which, get in. I’ll treat you to dinner.”

“I can pay for my own fucking food.”

“God, just get in the fucking car already, Miller. Let me be nice for once.”

“I don’t trust you when you’re nice, Ocelot,” he mutters, but opens the car door anyway and climbs in the passenger seat, tucking his cane between his knees.

“You shouldn’t trust me even when I’m nasty, to be fair.” Ocelot starts the car. The rumble of the engine is absolutely gorgeous, like a happy panther purring. He may be a shithead, but he’s got taste, he always has. The radio comes to life as well, that irritatingly catchy new Genesis song playing loudly as they drive out of Foxhound.

“So where are we going?” asks Kaz once the song is over and a rap song starts, and Ocelot lowers the volume. “Are you gonna kill me now or later?”

Ocelot laughs, an actual laugh that reaches all the way to his eyes. “No killing you for today,” he says. “Unless buying you greasy food counts as murder by way of cholesterol.”

Kaz snorts. “As if either of us is gonna be lucky enough to die of a nice, clean heart attack.”

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” says Ocelot, looking straight ahead at the road but smiling sadly.

They drive for almost an hour, not talking much, the radio blaring the same hits Kaz hears muffled from the barracks, a jarring mix of cheerful rap and tearful power ballads they both make gagging sounds at.

He is not expecting their destination to be a burger place.

“You know we can get burgers without driving to another county, right?” he says as they park.

“Trust me for once in your life, Miller.”

“Last time I trusted you I lost two limbs, you dick.”

Ocelot laughs. “It’s been ten years, come on.”

“Limbs don’t exactly grow _back_.”

Ocelot holds the door open for him, and nods at the shiny titanium elbow peeking out of his shirt sleeve. “At least you’ve finally agreed to a prosthesis. Looks good.”

“Snake’s been hounding me to get a new leg, but I’m not giving in. I’m used to the cane.” They stand a bit aside from the counter, looking at the board above the registers listing the different burgers. They don’t look special. Kaz still doesn’t know why they had to drive all the way to Arlington for this. “Besides, it gives me an edge with the newbies. Nobody expects the cripple to kick their ass.”

Ocelot laughs. “You’re still doing that, aren’t you.”

“Yep,” grins Kaz. “If you beat me in hand to hand on your first try you win a week of paid leave. Their faces when they find themselves on the ground keep me going.”

“Ah yes. The joys of tactical instructor duty. Kinda miss it sometimes.”

Kaz doesn’t say he kinda misses sharing duties with him because no Foxhound recruit can shoot worth a damn compared to even an E-rank Diamond Dog. He orders a burger instead. And a shake, because fuck it, if Ocelot’s paying he’ll splurge.

The second he bites into his large, cheese-dripping burger he understands why Ocelot took him here.

“Holy shit.”

“Right?” he says, dipping one of those irregular fries into ketchup. “Reminds me of the stuff you used to make. Thought you’d enjoy it.”

The restaurant’s radio blasts U2 while Kaz devours his burger in silence, trying not to concentrate on the fact that Ocelot still thinks about his burgers from over a decade ago, and failing.

***

They take their huge shakes back to the car. The parking lot is getting dark, not many people around anymore. It’s getting cold. Ocelot pulls the roof of the car up. They sit in something like companionable silence sucking on their straws, the radio humming quietly to a sad Eric Clapton song.

“Been a while since we last hung out, hasn’t it,” says Ocelot, eyes unfocused on a point somewhere over the steering wheel.

“Yeah, roughly since you said you were going to kill me one day.” It doesn’t come out as bitter as he wishes. Time smooths all edges, even the razor sharp ones of betrayal.

“Hmm.” The song ends, and that new Guns N’ Roses song starts. Ocelot raises the volume a little. “I like this one.”

“Aren’t you a bit too old for hard rock?”

“Aren’t you a bit too old for being in a dark parking lot with an old flame?”

Kaz snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Ocelot twitches his mustache at him, the pink tip of his tongue peeking out to lead the straw back into his mouth.

“Oh fuck it.” The long wailing guitar solo is just starting when Kaz reaches over the gearbox, grabs Ocelot by the ponytail, and pulls him in.

Ocelot tastes like bacon grease and vanilla milkshake when he kisses him. His stupid mustache is less ticklish than he thought it was going to be. Which is good, because he really has no intention of showing up to training tomorrow with mustache burns all over his face.

“That’s what I’ve always liked about you, Kaz,” laughs Ocelot as he cranks the driver seat back to let Kaz straddle him. “You’re a cheap date.”

“I don’t put out for burgers and shakes just for anybody these days, you know?” Kaz bites his bottom lip, adjusts on his thighs, rips off his scarf to go to town on his neck.

“Oh, I am flattered now,” he laughs breathily, untying Kaz’s hair and dragging his gloved fingers through it as it tumbles down his back.

_Friday I’m in Love_ plays, ironically almost, when Ocelot pushes Kaz back against the steering wheel, shoving his shirt up and licking a wet hot stripe up his stomach while he palms his cock through his fatigues.

“Get _on_ with it, you...old fuck,” whines Kaz, biting the tips of Ocelot’s fingers plunging in his mouth, dragging his glove off with his teeth, sucking on his naked fingers.

Having one leg that ends right after the knee is useful in situations like this, where he really needs to get his pants off and there’s very little space to do so. His prosthesis rolls off by the pedals, and he doesn’t care. Ocelot’s seen him in way worse conditions and has never given a damn. His aviators slide down his nose and he doesn’t bother pushing them up.

Kaz distantly registers the thumping synth of a dance song coming from the radio as Ocelot shoves inside him. He presses his metal hand to the roof and uses it as leverage to ride him hard and fast and sloppy, joint clicking and whirring with every thrust.

“Now that’s some enhancement,” laughs Ocelot, tight leather fist clammy around Kaz’s cock. “Hot.”

“Next time I’ll make you feel what it’s like to get fingered with it,” growls Kaz, grinding on Ocelot’s cock, searching for his own prostate in the weird position.

“Fuck,” croaks Ocelot, rhythm faltering. “Promise?”

“Depends on how good - ah! - the burgers are.”

Ocelot twists his wrist and pushes him forward, Kaz’s head hitting the fogged up windshield just as his orgasm courses through him like a live current, Ocelot’s come hot as it fills him.

He goes limp with his face in the curve of Ocelot’s neck, breathing shallowly and feeling stupidly nostalgic about his gross cologne and his hands petting his thighs. Def Leppard on the radio is asking if he’s _ever needed somebody somebody so bad_ , and Ocelot nuzzles his face up to kiss him, and not for the first time, Kaz wishes things had gone a different way at least once in the past twenty years.

He plonks back into the passenger seat when he catches his breath, waving his leg stump in Ocelot’s face until he grabs the prosthesis from the floor and carefully straps it back on, helping him pull his pant leg over it. He doesn’t bother zipping up, just tugs his shirt over his come smeared stomach.

Ocelot offers him a cigarette. They’re those nasty unfiltered Russian ones that taste like pure tar, but Kaz accepts anyway. Windows down, they let the smoke trail out into the night as they start making their way back to Foxhound. The radio plays a Springsteen song Kaz hasn’t heard before and the roads are nearly empty. Their arms brush sometimes when Ocelot shifts gears, and they don’t talk.

“Take care, asshole,” says Ocelot with a wave as he drops Kaz by the gates.

“Don’t get yourself killed, dickhead,” salutes lazily Kaz, and ambles through, not really giving a damn if the security detail can tell he’s rumpled and well fucked.

The rumble of the Maserati slowly fades behind him.

Kaz wonders idly when his next burger date will be. 


	2. art!

Incredible art of the fic from the incomparable Holly [@breadsins](https://twitter.com/breadsins)!!

 


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